


Snektember 2020

by die_traumerei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Established Relationship, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Femme Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Time, Genderqueer Crowley (Good Omens), Historical, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light BDSM, Loss of Virginity, Male-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Male-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Short & Sweet, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Snektember
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26586694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: A series of ten short stories, some AU and some not, after prompts for the Snektember challenge. Warnings and major tags are in the notes for each chapter.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 53





	1. Naps

Crowley slithered to the door of their bedroom and rose up to double-check his suspicions. Would he hit the jackpot today?

It looked likely. The weather was warm without being uncomfortably hot. The sun was bright, angled just right at this time of year to pour in through the window. The plants on the sill basked in said sunlight, drinking it in before winter gloom arrived, and Crowley spared a moment to turn one glittering yellow eye on them. All was well there, though – for the moment.

And his real goal was on the bed. A messy comforter, a pleasant addition in the not-too-warm weather. And there – yes!

Aziraphale was taking a rare nap. Neither of them needed to sleep, of course, but Crowley adored the sensation of heaviness pulling him down, of his limbs gone easy and sweet. Of his brain quieting, and of eventually waking up in the soft and the warm.

(And, all right, sometimes upside-down in a tree with underwear on his head, but that was a pretty rare occurrence these days. Even after their neighbour had presented them with a welcome-to-the-village joint; _that_ had just lead to one of the best naps of his life, while Aziraphale meticulously dusted every single thing on every single shelf.)

But his angel napped so rarely; he simply didn't much fancy it, so usually the closest Crowley got to having his absolute dreams come true was to snuggle up to him while he read, and drop off, and it was certainly lovely, but wasn't  _quite_ the same.

But now – now! His luck was in! Aziraphale was fast asleep on his back in the afternoon sun, and Crowley wasted no more time in slithering up the bedpost, across the mussed comforter, and finally, as a very small snake, so light as to not be noticed, he slithered up and onto Aziraphale's belly.

Already feeling the call of slumber, Crowley curled up on the familiar velvet waistcoat, basked in the combined warmth of the sunlight and Aziraphale himself and, the greatest dream of his small, snakey life achieved, he fell fast asleep.


	2. Historical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring a (temporarily) female-presenting Aziraphale. To fit in with the situation, she's also temporarily quite thin, but both she and Crowley clearly prefer her usual form.
> 
> CW for mention of drug use.

London, 1974

“Oh hold _still_ already,” Azirphale hissed as she patted her bouffant into place. And the little gold snake that was serving as a fetching hair ornament, or _ought_ to be. Well, hair ornament-slash-bodyguard, of a sort.

Aziraphale had been given a rare actual assignment; to go to a particular party, invitees limited to only the hippest and most fashionable Londoners, and make sure a particular soul wasn't corrupted. This was particularly important as fully half the guests, he had been assured, were in cahoots with Hell.

Crowley had loudly disbelieved this when he was told so, and also loudly disbelieved in Aziraphale's ability to fit in at such a fashionable place and was, not very quietly, completely jealous that Aziraphale had got an invitation as part of he assignment.

To shut him up, Aziraphale had got him to act as both wardrobe consultant and a kind of demonic bodyguard, just in case there  _was_ something to worry over. Crowley had been thrilled, of course, and had very coolly not shown it, just studied the invitation and noted that Aziraphale was going to have to go woman, going by the name on it.

Thus Aziraphale was in a female body, which was fine, and was fashionably thin, which was not, but they had to make this work somehow. Even if Crowley's face pinched a bit when he saw her.

“It's just for a night,” she'd said softly, wriggling into the Mary Quant dress Crowley had found for her. “And you can have the dress when I'm done with it.”

“Hush up, angel, and get your boots on or we'll be late,” was all a furiously-blushing Crowley had said. He was her last adornment, actually; after the dress and the go-go boots and about fifty layers of mascara and a miraculous hairdo that did _not_ require several hours at a salon, she held out her strangely-thin arm, and a small gold snake eased his way up and into her hair, nestling himself comfortably. For about ten seconds.

“You'd better hold still in the taxi ride at least,” she threatened. “I shan't be left on the side of the road just because you got a wiggle on.”

“It itchesssss,” Crowley hissed, wriggling extravagantly, although with enough self-preservation, at least, to not truly ruin her hair.

“It does not,” Aziraphale said primly. “I have very nice, soft hair. Right, you, we're off now.” And so she waltzed into the night, thin and elegant and sexy and fashionable and utterly, completely, not herself.

It wasn't so much that the night was a bust, it was just...boring. There was no one on  _Earth_ more dull than a socialite on coke, and Aziraphale had to pretend to  _be_ one, as well as being around them. The more artist-y types were all right, she guessed, but she missed most of their references.

(“You're doing great, angel,” Crowley hissed in her ear, at one point when she'd ducked into the powder room to take a breather.

“I'm really not,” Aziraphale said.

“Well, no, but I thought I might buck you up a bit,” Crowley admitted.

Aziraphale sighed and patted her hair, and wondered if  _actually_ doing some coke might improve things. It usually didn't, and she didn't fancy forgetting herself and starting to grow wings or whatever. So back into the breach she plunged, armed only with a wine spritzer, which was  _definitely_ a sin.)

As they'd suspected, the 'demonic influence' wasn't; just some run-of-the-mill creativity combined with someone's granddad who'd been in the Golden Dawn, which was at least something Aziraphale could speak about with some intelligence. There wasn't really a soul that needed saving, but he ticked the boxes and the report would be easy enough to write up – and, possibly, get him left alone for a few years.

And it was pretty, almost, taking the taxi home in the wee hours of the morning, watching the sun rise over London and letting himself into the bookshop when most of the city was still asleep. Aziraphale stretched, and snapped his fingers, too lazy to undress the human way, and wanting to slip back into his usual corporation, big and soft and just –  _his_ .

Crowley had slithered out of his hair almost as soon as they'd got home, and Aziraphale fixed them a pot of tea, smiling when he stayed in snake form. “Shall I pour you a saucer, dear boy?” he asked as he added the boiling water to the leaves, the old comfortable smells rushing back.

“No thank you,” Crowley said, and grew a little, returning to _his_ usual red and black as he slithered up Aziraphale's arm again and settled on one shoulder, and rather comfortably too.

“Not itchy, then?” Aziraphale asked as he settled down with his cup of tea and a book.

“Nooooo,” Crowley sighed. He had jammed his little head up against Aziraphale's chin, just over his collar, and seemed perfectly content to rest there. 

And so they started the day, Aziraphale as comfortable as he could ever remember being, with his Crowley settled heavy and nice, already taking a snakey little nap.


	3. Party

“And you say you took thousands of souls just like this?” Aziraphale asked dryly. He sipped his wine, while some truly terrible record pounded away. He knew he didn't much love modern music, but he was pretty sure this was  _ deliberately _ bad. Like the whole ripped-jumper aesthetic that was such a big deal, and had lead to Crowley wandering around looking like a Dickensian waif, but apparently a  _ fashionable _ Dickensian waif.

Oh, what he wouldn't give for Crowley in leather trousers with lots of D-rings on them right now. Well, generally he quite liked those trousers – so many ways to be  _ creative _ – but now especially they were close to his heart. For if Crowley was in trousers, that meant Crowley had legs, which also meant that there wasn't a snake dancing in their front room. 

At least he'd drawn the curtains, so a random passerby wouldn't see a little snakey head bobbling along with the...was that the  _ beat _ ? Well, not quite ¾ time, was it?

“Dancing, angel!” Crowley explained, bobbing up and down to the music. “C'mon, you never had a dance party?”

“Well, there was that gentleman's club....” Such soft memories, of such...hard things. Swollen, engorged, hard things, that was.

“Doesn't count.” Crowley had formed his tail into a spring, and was now boinging around the furniture, a thing snakes absolutely did not do naturally, Aziraphale was sure of it.

“Then no. I have not. Doesn't a party require...multiple people?”

He got a dirty look, and bowed.

“Forgive me, my darling. Multiple living beings. That can dance.”

“Plants can technically dance,” Crowley said as the song changed and he boinged faster. He was really getting some distance, Aziraphale realised with quiet impressiveness. “There was a study. They're just slow.”

“Are you sure that wasn't the Ents?” Aziraphale asked, turning so he could follow Crowley's progress.

“Pretty sure. Anyway, dance party!” And he wiggled and wobbled and, despite having no limbs, was definitely dancing.

Aziraphale smiled. He did not join in, but that was all right, Crowley hadn't really expected it of him. They were pretty good at each other's boundaries, and while Aziraphale often wiggled – with joy, usually, sometimes when orgasming, and often when he needed to concentrate, or just because he needed to  _ wiggle _ – he would not be doing so to this racket.

“You have fun now, darling. Watch out for side tables, or it'll be the vet and a cone again,” Aziraphale warned.

“Promise!” The music was changing tempo anyway, and Crowley started to sway to the music, still mostly upright, his little snakey head aimed at the ceiling. Aziraphale returned to his study, amused and contented, the sound of the music – and, later, the distinct sound of a snake boinging about the place – pleasantly distant.


	4. Fancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With female-presenting Aziraphale and nonbinary Crowley! God, I love writing them like this.

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale breathed.

“Like it, angel?” Crowley turned around slowly, showing off. “Thought I might get a little...fancy. It being our anniversary and all.” 

Sie was utterly stunning. 'Fancy' implied perhaps a pair of heels instead of flats – that had certainly been Aziraphale's interpretation, and she was really very grateful she had such nice calves. Crowley was beyond fancy, though.

Sie was wearing heels too, of course, but Crowley usually wore heels. They were red snakeskin, and very tall. And sie was wearing a black snakeskin dress. Well, it was intended to look like a dress; Aziraphale knew well that it was, well,  _ Crowley _ . The dress was very short, barely covering hir rump and showing off those long, gorgeous legs to perfection. The neckline, on the other hand, was very high, coming up around hir neck. Crowley had opted for small, lovely breasts, and when she turned, Aziraphale noted that the back of the dress was very, very low. It was sleek and skin-tight, and very definitely a demonic working – the dress was Crowley's scales and colouration.

“You're beautiful,” Azirphale said softly, and crossed the bookshop floor to stand beneath the dome and kiss Crowley in the evening light that filtered through.

“Yes, I am,” Crowley gloated, and kissed Aziraphale lightly, but no less loving for it. Aziraphale still needed light, soft touches, or she grew frightened and tense. Crowley still needed to give gentle touches, or sie got overwhelmed. They matched each other, and took care of each other, and Aziraphale had tried to make herself beautiful for this, something like their anniversary.

She was wearing a Dior New Look dress. Not vintage – nothing vintage would fit her, she knew – but hand-tailored, and hoped she wasn't too fussy with that and the crinolines and her curls tumbling down her shoulders and all. What Crowley had achieved with a thought, and hir own snakeskin, Aziraphale had managed with a young genius with a needle, and her own sense of styling.

“You are so beautiful, angel,” Crowley said gently, before giving her another kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too, dearest.” Aziraphale smiled at hir, soft things bubbling in her heart. “I like it when you get fancy.”

“Likewise.” Crowley grinned at her, and offered hir arm. “Right then, we have a reservation, beautiful.”

Aziraphale pinked, and smiled through her eyelashes, and took Crowley's arm, feeling safe and very pleased with herself. She was lovely, and they'd have a wonderful evening full of good conversation and  _ very _ good wine, and Crowley would be hir stunning self, and they would go home together and Aziraphale would drink tea and read in bed while Crowley sprawled and slept by her side. 

Fancy was nice, but she was already looking forward to the intimacy of comfort that would come later that night.


	5. Tea Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little human AU, as a treat ;)

“She's a bloody _traitor_ ,” Crowley declared.

“Snakes don't betray people,” Aziraphale said serenely as he set the kettle on to boil.

Crowley stalked over to the stove and leaned over the ball python currently living her best life curled around Aziraphale's free hand. He was holding it up and out of the way, truly careful to not harm her, and Crowley would deal with the funny feeling that gave his tummy _later_. That Aziraphale loved his girl like he did...well.

“Traitor,” he informed Antonia, while she curled around Aziraphale's fingers. Crowley was very jealous. He loved Aziraphale's fingers, and his hands, and sort of wanted to curl around them himself.

Oh, Christ, might as well be honest with himself – he loved Aziraphale's _everything_ , tip to toe. He was the best thing to ever happen to Crowley, and he couldn't blame his _traitor snake_ for being nice to Aziraphale, when Antonia wasn't nice to anybody except Crowley.

Well, he could _pretend_ to blame her, anyway.

“Disgusting traitor,” Crowley informed her. “At least Damian still likes me best.” Damian was his corn snake, and maybe the stupidest living creature Crowley had ever encountered. Snakes had a very nonhuman intelligence, and Crowley really did try to not anthropomorphize them but. Well. Damian was simply a majestic dumbass, and it was probably good he lived out his days in a nice, safe, predator-free terrarium.

“Of course he does, darling,” Aziraphale said, spooning tea into the ceramic pot. “Antonia loves you best too, you know.”

“She used to love _only_ me,” Crowley declared, unwilling to give up his really good pout.

“Aren't you the one that tells me all the time that reptiles don't really experience love the way mammals do?” Aziraphale asked, as the kettle began to sing. He kept the hand with Antonia on it very well out of the way, deftly poured the hot water, and began to get their mugs ready. A bit of milk for both of them, and a spoon of sugar for Crowley, and they could settle in the living room and maybe watch a bit of telly and definitely have a good cuddle as the rain fell outside.

“She loves _me_ ,” Crowley grumbled, while he pulled out Aziraphale's favourite biscuits and scattered them on a plate.

“Yes, dear boy,” Aziraphale said peacefully. “In that case, you can take her and go pick out something to watch, I'll be in with our tea in two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, and the traitor Antonia needed a little coaxing to wrap around his hand, but there was a Doctor Who re-run on, so his feelings were lightly soothed. It was even the fifth Doctor, his favourite, and so Crowley was almost ready to stop pretending he was grumpy even before Aziraphale came in with their tea, and an affectionate kiss.

Almost.


	6. Coiling Up in the Wrong Place

“It wasn't my fault!”

“Did I not warn you _precisely_ about this?” Aziraphale asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“You didn't, actually,” Crowley said. “You told me not to dance too hard. And I didn't.”

Aziraphale sighed. “No, you just decided our front wall was a wonderful place to coil up for a nap, forgetting that Mrs Hudson's grandchildren are visiting this week.”

“Is it my fault that no one ever taught them respect for God's creatures?” Crowley asked piously. He tried to look skyward, which was slightly defeated by the cone around his neck. He slithered forward, and gave a pathetic little _bonk_ as the edge of the cone caught a lamp.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale.

“Owwwwwww,” he said, to see if it would change anything.

Aziraphale sighed and scooped him up into his lap. “Well, I suppose we should be grateful I arrived in time, and that you can't change back. I don't know _what_ they'd make of you in A&E.”

Crowley gave a pathetic little sniff, somehow. “I expect it would be terrible. I'm sure the little beast broke my back.”

“You're nothing _but_ back, darling,” Aziraphale said patiently. “And the vet said there weren't any fractures, so you're all right there.”

“You took a picture of the x-rays with my phone, right?” Crowley demanded, his grievous injuries forgotten for the moment. “I wanna see.”

“Yes, dearest,” Aziraphale said, smiling and opening Crowley's phone to show him. “Now lie nice and still, you're supposed to rest.”

There was another series of pathetic sounds as Crowley settled down, his cone sadly _bonk_ ing against a few things on the way, but eventually he was, he announced, as comfortable as he could get, what with having been nearly _squeezed to death_ by a _child_.

“He thought you were an invasive species,” Aziraphale said, pulling up Crowley's admittedly rather nifty x-rays. “Which you are, incidentally.”

“Still not my fault,” Crowley said, gazing at his own skeletal structure. “ _Cool_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is Crowley stuck as a snake, and can’t be healed by angelic intervention? Fuck if I know. *waves hands*


	7. Mating Rituals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's pretty porny, fyi! Also featuring female-presenting Aziraphale, and her first time...

It was remarkable the twists and turns in one's life, Aziraphale mused. Here she was, your actual virginal angel, sent to Earth to guard her humans for six thousand years. Of course, there was only so much she could do single-handedly, which she was now suspecting was part of some great plan – perhaps _the_ Great Plan – but they'd all muddled through together. And she'd been content enough to meander through the ages fooling everyone, including herself, into believing that she _was_ a holy angel, untouched and untouchable. That she believed, that she belonged to Heaven's ranks, that she wasn't...too much herself, or too Human, after all this time spent alone on earth.

That had all shattered six months ago, when Crowley had slithered up to her front door. He'd been in human form of course, but he still managed to _slither_. He was supposed to seduce her, blacken her name and reputation, maybe get her kicked off Earth altogether. Maybe cause her to Fall – that'd be a feather in his cap!

Joke was on him.

They'd fallen in love.

Oh, very reluctant about it, both of them, which lasted about a month before the dastardly demon who was supposed to be getting her up the duff (like there weren't enough nephilim as it was!) was taking her ice-skating in the winter market and laughing with joy when she showed off how good she was, and they shared spiced wine and their first kiss in the deep shadows behind one of the stalls.

They lasted another month before Crowley cuddled sleepily in Aziraphale's arms, head on her shoulder, and whispered that he loved her. And Aziraphale had whispered the same thing back.

That began...well, not the hard part. But perhaps the confusing part. They'd courted in the human way so far, with dates and little gifts, hugs and kisses and tender compliments.

(Aziraphale was pretty sure she was well out of her league with this suave, cool, sexy demon man.

Crowley was _absolutely certain_ he was out of his league with his beautiful, curvaceous, brilliant angel lady.

They enormous dorks who were _made_ for each other.)

Angels didn't really court, and definitely didn't have sex, so Aziraphale was pretty happy continuing on in the human way, and anyway she did love a good cuddle, preferably with a glass of wine in hand while Crowley looked at her with those golden eyes and slowly fed her chocolates in between the kisses. The first time he'd put his hand up her shirt had been exquisite for them both, and she had shyly returned the gesture, fascinated by his flat, male chest, and how cute his little nipples were.

Demons were a bit more creative, as one would expect. Which was why Aziraphale also found herself being squeezed like a snake, which was actually fine, and also found herself with offerings of souls, which was not fine. (“Put those back where you found them this instant!”)

They'd muddled through that, too, and fell even deeper in love. Which presented its own problems.

“Well, why did She give me a vagina if she didn't expect me to _use_ it?” Aziraphale demanded. “Most angels are sexless.”

“To blend in?” Crowley asked weakly.

“Yes, it's very important that my clit look and act just like a human woman's, for purposes of _blending in_.” Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “I've never even felt close to Falling. Love isn't a sin. Giving my body freely to you isn't a sin” she said firmly.

Crowley shivered. “I'm still worried,” he muttered, face dark.

“I know, dearest,” she said softly, and pulled him into a tender embrace. “I know. Shh, I love you. I'm not going to Fall for this. I promise you, with all my angelic heart. And I want this so very badly...”

Crowley smiled a little, and kissed her. “I want it too. I'll be so gentle, make it so good for you, I promise. There won't be a happier, more pampered and adored being in the world, when we're done.”

Aziraphale giggled softly. “See! I'm sure being so spoiled is a small sin, and I've been just fine.” She sighed happily in his arms. “I trust you, Crowley. With all of me.” Far more than she trusted Heaven or any other angel – but that would come later.

“All right, sweetheart. Tonight, after we get home from dinner.” Crowley gave her a little kiss. “Your place, so you're surrounded by the things you love best.”

Aziraphale just smiled at him, and that was how she lost her virginity to one of Hell's demons, and _very_ nice it was, too. The scales on his cock were just... _well_.

And so it was that Aziraphale now lay facedown on the bed, an angel but definitely no longer virginal. A spreader bar forced her ankles apart and tight clamps were on her nipples, her arse up in the air while Crowley slowly fucked her from behind and she mused the twists and turns life had taken in between moaning his name and begging for more. They'd figured out the courting and mating thing, mostly sticking to human stuff, but with some of the more fun demonic touches sprinkled in, and it was, simply, _delicious_. Nearly as delicious as it felt when the clamps came off her nipples, replaced by Crowley suckling hungrily, and she came for the...sixth time that day? Seventh? Did it matter?

It did not.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


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